He is lighter than air, and being with He is like floating, floating, while He holds you tightly by a thin string that He jerks now and again, to pull you back, to remind you to land once in a while, to bathe, to eat. He is lighter than air, He makes you feel like every curve, every fold, every spare tyre is insubstantial, that you have no outside lines at all, no borders, no limits. He is lighter than air, and he enters you with breathtaking pleasure, the friction at the outside edge of sense. He is lighter than air as he fingers your mouth, your teeth brittle from want, your tongue, cracked like a drought riverbed. He is lighter than air as he Michelin-mans the oxygen out of your alveoli, as you purple deliciously, as you deflate into him. He is lighter than. He is lighter. He is.
END
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